Adultery Radiance of Vanitha

[adams_masala]

Chapter 22: SelvamFox in Vanitha's eyes

Next day morning.

Selvam usually worked out in the backyard, a routine Vanitha had never paid much attention to. But after her startling discovery—that Selvam and SilverFox77 were the same person—her perspective shifted entirely. Suddenly, every movement he made seemed magnified, every detail impossible to ignore. He didn’t look like a 48-year-old man; he looked like a predator in his prime—a true Silver Fox ready to pounce.

Selvam works out everyday, in the open, in the expanse of his backyard and today was no exception.

Vanitha found herself lingering in the kitchen longer than usual. Her hands trembled slightly as she washed the breakfast dishes, her eyes irresistibly drawn to the window overlooking the backyard. There he was, moving through his exercises with practiced precision. The rhythmic sound of his breathing carried through the still morning air, blending with the soft rustle of neem leaves overhead.

Sunlight filtered through the branches, casting shifting patterns across his bare chest. Beads of sweat glistened on his copper-toned skin, tracing paths down the defined ridges of his abdomen. Vanitha’s throat went dry at the sight. The man she had known for years as a father figure now seemed transformed before her eyes.

Each flex of his muscles told a story she hadn’t dared to imagine before—a story that sent heat coursing through her veins.

Selvam wore only a simple kovanam (loincloth), its traditional folds clinging to his hips and thighs. She marveled at how he remained rooted in tradition even in this modern age, but her admiration quickly turned into something deeper—something more primal. The fabric strained against his movements, barely containing him, and Vanitha found herself captivated by how it accentuated his form.

The Tamil phrase “Vairam Paanja Odambu”—a body as tough as a diamond—flashed through her mind. It was the perfect way to describe Selvam’s physique, even at his age. His strength was undeniable, each movement exuding power and control.

As he reached for the largest dumbbell and began lifting it with ease, Vanitha unconsciously mirrored his rhythm. Her breath matched his low murmurs as he counted repetitions under his breath. When he set the weight down and took a long sip from his water from a copper vessel, she watched intently as a droplet escaped the corner of his mouth, sliding down his neck and disappearing into the hollow of his collarbone. Her lips parted involuntarily as she wet them with her tongue.

The familiar creak of the outdor tap signaled the next part of Selvam’s routine. He moved to the bench press, lying back with effortless grace. Vanitha knew she should turn away—should focus on anything else—but she remained rooted to the cool tile floor of her kitcen.

Selvam gripped the barbell, and with each press upward, his chest and shoulders flexed magnificently. The thin fabric of his loincloth / kovanam shifted precariously with every repetition, revealing tantalizing glimpses of muscled thighs and more. Vanitha’s breath quickened as she watched him push through each set, soft groans escaping his lips during moments of strain.

When Selvam finished, he stood and stretched, raising his arms skyward. The movement caused the fabric around his hips to slip slightly lower, revealing a deep V-line that disappeared beneath the cloth. Vanitha clutched the edge of the sink so tightly her knuckles turned white as Selvam adjusted his garment absentmindedly, offering fleeting glimpses of what lay beneath.

Her gaze followed a trail of hair from his chest downward until it disappeared under the folds of fabric. She swallowed hard, unable to shake the vivid images from her mind—the ones she had seen just yesterday morning in Selvam’s bedroom when she stumbled upon SilverFox77’s secret identity.

With his second set, Selvam repositioned himself on the bench, his legs now pointing directly toward the kitchen window. Vanitha's breath caught in her throat as he spread his thighs wide for stability, the thin fabric of his kovanam stretching dangerously across his groin. The pose was unintentionally provocative—a display that would have seemed innocent just days ago but now felt like an invitation she wasn't meant to witness.

The morning sunlight intensified, casting everything in a golden hue that made Selvam's skin gleam like burnished bronze. From this new angle, Vanitha could see the powerful muscles in his thighs tensing with each press of the barbell, the fabric between his legs shifting with every movement. The kovanam clung to his form, outlining the unmistakable shape she now knew intimately from her accidental discovery.

Aiyyo Kadavule," Vanitha whispered, the prayer to God escaping her lips involuntarily as Selvam kept pushing the barbell. And between those spread legs, the unmistakable outline of his manhood pressed against the fabric. With each upward thrust of the barbell, Vanitha's eyes widened as she noticed the fabric of his kovanam tenting slightly with each exertion. The thin material betrayed him, revealing the unmistakable outline of his arousal growing with each powerful thrust of the barbell. Her mouth went dry at the realization that his workout was affecting him in ways she had never considered before. She was surprised by the size of the bulge even in it’s flacid state.

When Selvam finally set the weights aside, he lay still for a moment, chest heaving with exertion. He ran a hand absently across his torso, fingers trailing through the sweat that had gathered in the hollow of his stomach. The gesture was innocent, practical even, but to Vanitha it felt like the most erotic display she had ever witnessed. The thin fabric of his kovanam shifted with his movement, the outline of his arousal now unmistakable. Vanitha's breath caught in her throat. How had she never noticed before? How had she been so blind to the raw masculinity he exuded?

Vanitha's pulse hammered in her ears as she registered the familiar shape—the same thick, veined length she had seen in SilverFox77's pictures, the same proud manhood she had glimpsed in Selvam's bedroom.

He rolled his shoulders and neck, muscles rippling beneath his skin in a hypnotic dance. Then, with a satisfied sigh that carried across the yard, he moved toward the bathing area.

The outdoor bathing space was traditional—a holdover from simpler times that Selvam insisted on preserving. It offered privacy from neighbors but remained open to the sky. From her vantage point in the kitchen, Vanitha had a clear view that she had never before exploited.

Her heart thundered in her chest as the outdoor bathing area, partially concealed by a bamboo screen and flowering jasmine vines. This was her chance to turn away, to retreat to her room and sort through the tumultuous feelings churning inside her. Yet she remained frozen, her body betraying her mind's feeble protests.

Selvam unhooked the copper vessel from its place near the well and filled it with water. With practiced movements, he loosened the knot at his waist, and the kovanam fell away completely. Vanitha's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp as she beheld him fully naked for the first time in full daylight.

The morning sun caressed every inch of his exposed skin, highlighting the sharp definition between muscle and sinew. His back was a canvas of strength—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, the curve of his spine leading down to firm buttocks that flexed as he moved. Vanitha's fingers pressed against the cool glass of the window, her body leaning forward unconsciously.

When Selvam turned slightly to reach for the soap, she saw him in profile—his manhood hanging heavy between his thighs, impressive even in its relaxed state.

It was exactly as she had glimpsed in his bedroom—thick and substantial, with prominent veins tracing along its length. The sight sent a jolt of recognition through her body, confirming beyond any doubt that Selvam and SilverFox77 were one and the same. And she was counting her luck she's able to see him like this ahgain!

Vanitha's fingers trembled against the window glass. She knew she should look away, yet her eyes remained fixed on him as he poured water over his body. The liquid cascaded down his chest in rivulets, following the contours of his muscles before dripping onto the stone floor beneath him. Each droplet caught the sunlight, transforming his skin into a glistening landscape that beckoned her touch.

Selvam worked the soap between his palms until it foamed, then began to wash himself with methodical strokes. His hands glided over his shoulders and chest, down his abdomen, and lower still.

When Selvam's hands moved to his groin, Vanitha held her breath. He cupped himself with a casual intimacy that made her cheeks flush hot with embarrassment—and something else entirely. His touch was practical, efficient, yet there was an unmistakable tenderness in the way his fingers lingered. She watched, transfixed, as he cleaned himself thoroughly, unaware of her voyeuristic gaze.

The soap slid between his fingers as he gripped himself, working the lather around his shaft with a familiarity that made Vanitha's knees weaken. His manhood began to respond to his touch, thickening visibly even from this distance. Her mouth went dry as she watched it grow, rising gradually from its nest of dark curls until it stood proud and erect against his stomach.

"Kadavule," she whispered again, this time not in shock but in awe. The transformation was mesmerizing. What had been impressive in its relaxed state now became magnificent—thick and proud, with a prominent head that glistened with soap and water. The veins that traced along its length seemed to pulse with life, and Vanitha found herself remembering the photos she'd seen on SilverFox77's profile—the same impressive manhood that had stirred such forbidden desires within her.

Selvam rinsed himself, water cascading down his body in sheets that emphasized rather than concealed. He seemed in no hurry, taking his time as if savoring the sensation of water against his heated skin. When he reached for more soap, his erection bobbed with the movement, drawing Vanitha's gaze like a magnet.

What happened next sent a shock of electric heat through her core. Instead of continuing his bath, Selvam's hand returned to his arousal, wrapping around it with deliberate intent. His head tilted back slightly, eyes closing as water continued to drip from his hair down the strong column of his neck.

Vanitha's breath fogged the window glass as she watched him begin to stroke himself with slow, measured movements. Each pull of his hand revealed the full length of his shaft before disappearing again beneath his grip. She should turn away—knew she should—but remained rooted to the spot, her own body responding with a deep, pulsing ache between her thighs.

The rhythm of his hand escalated with a fervor that bordered on desperation, his breathing shifting from the disciplined cadence of his workout to a raw, untamed panting. The sunlight ignited the droplets on his skin, turning them into dazzling diamonds that cascaded over the massive testicles below. Selvam's hands were impressively large, and yet, as he gripped his shaft, only half of it disappeared beneath his palm, the rest towering above. His thumb and forefinger strained, unable to close around the formidable girth. The sight parched Vanitha's throat, her mind spiraling into a maelstrom of forbidden, feverish fantasies.

She imagined her tiny hands trying to encircle what Selvam's larger ones could not, and a tremor ran through her body.

She wondered if even he could manage to control it—how could she? Then, like a bolt of lightning, the crucial question struck her: "Will it fit?"

Vanitha's breath caught in her throat as she watched Selvam's pace quicken. His strong hand worked with greater urgency, water and soap creating a slick sheen that caught the morning light. His muscles tensed and relaxed in a primal rhythm, the tendons in his forearm standing out with each deliberate stroke. She was witnessing something deeply intimate, something no one was meant to see.

The bamboo screen provided him with the illusion of privacy, casting dappled shadows across his glistening form. Behind it, he was uninhibited, free from the constraints of the father figure role he had maintained for so long. This was the raw, unfiltered Selvam—the man behind SilverFox77's seductive messages.

His breathing grew more ragged, the sound carrying across the yard on the still morning air. Vanitha leaned closer to the window, her saree pressed against the warm glass, the delicate silk absorbing her body heat as she unconsciously leaned closer. Vanitha's fingers splayed against the windowpane, leaving ghostly imprints as her breath created small clouds of condensation that appeared and disappeared with each shallow exhalation.

Selvam's tempo increased, his powerful hand working with greater urgency. His head fell back, exposing the strong column of his throat to the morning sun. Water droplets clung to his skin before surrendering to gravity, tracing meandering paths down his chest. His free hand roamed across his torso, fingers spreading wide to grip his pectoral muscle, squeezing with an intensity that spoke of mounting pleasure.

The muscles in his thighs tensed, feet planted firmly on the stone floor as his hips began to thrust subtly upward to meet each downward stroke. Vanitha's own body responded in kind, an involuntary rhythm establishing itself deep within her core, matching his tempo with pulsing waves that made her press her thighs together in a futile attempt to quell the building pressure.

A soft groan escaped Selvam's lips, the sound cutting through the morning stillness like a blade. Vanitha's heart hammered against her ribcage as she watched his face contort with pleasure—his brows drawing together, lips parting to reveal clenched teeth. There was something primal in his expression, something that stripped away years and social constructs, leaving only raw desire in their wake.

"Van—" The syllable was barely audible, caught between his labored breaths.

"Vanitha....," he groaned, the name falling from his lips with such clarity that she nearly stumbled backward. Her name. He was calling her name.

The world seemed to still around her as the implications crashed through her consciousness. Not his late wife's name. Not some unknown woman's. Hers. The revelation sent a jolt of electricity racing down her spine, pooling low in her abdomen with an intensity that made her grip the countertop for support.

Selvam's movements grew more frantic, his powerful hand working with increasing desperation. His eyes remained closed, face tilted toward the heavens as if in supplication. The veins in his neck stood out in stark relief, a roadmap of desire etched against copper skin. With each stroke, his abdomen tightened, the defined muscles contracting in waves that mirrored the tension building in his body.

His voice grew more urgent with each stroke, her name becoming a mantra that matched the rhythm of his hand. "Vanitha... yes... Vanitha..." Each utterance was punctuated by a grunt of pleasure, deep and guttural.

The forbidden intimacy of hearing her name spoken with such raw desire made her press her thighs together more firmly, desperately trying to contain the molten heat pooling between them. Her saree felt suddenly restrictive, the silk blouse beneath it damp with perspiration. She could feel her nipples hardening against the fabric.

"Vanitha... oh, Vanitha..." Her name fell from his lips again, no longer a whisper but a desperate plea that echoed across the courtyard. The sound of it—her name in his mouth, shaped by desire—sent a shudder cascading through her body. She bit her lower lip hard enough to taste the metallic tang of blood, desperate to stifle the moan threatening to escape her throat.

Selvam's body tensed, his broad shoulders bunching as his back arched slightly. "Vanitha... ennoda Vanitha," he groaned, the Tamil endearment—my Vanitha—sending a fresh wave of heat through her body. His strokes grew erratic, his massive chest heaving with each labored breath.

Then it happened. Selvam's entire body went rigid, muscles locking as his head fell back completely. A primal sound—half growl, half moan—tore from his throat as his release came in powerful spurts that arced through the morning air, catching the sunlight like pearls before landing on the stone floor. The force of it was startling, each pulse accompanied by a deep, guttural sound that seemed to emanate from the very core of his being.

"Vanitha... ennoda devadhai..." My angel, he called her as thick ropes of his essence erupted from him, arcing through the air before and his seed erupted in powerful bursts, arcing through the morning light before landing on the stone floor. The evidence of his desire glistened in the sunlight, each pulse accompanied by a shudder that ripple.

As the final tremors subsided, Selvam leaned forward, bracing one hand against the stone wall. His chest heaved with exertion, water and sweat mingling on his skin. The morning light caught the droplets in his hair, transforming them into a crown of diamonds. In this moment of vulnerability, he looked both powerful and exposed—a contradiction that stirred something protective within Vanitha even as it fanned the flames of her own desire.

She watched as he slowly regained his composure.

"Vanitha," he whispered one final time, the name escaping him like a prayer of gratitude. His eyes remained closed, chest heaving as he caught his breath. The vulnerability in his expression—a stark contrast to the raw power he had just displayed—stirred something protective within her, even as desire continued to course through her veins like liquid fire.

Selvam stood motionless for several moments, water droplets trailing down his spent body, catching the morning light

When he reached for his towel, his movements were unhurried, almost languid. The release had left him in a state of tranquil satisfaction, his features softened in its aftermath. Vanitha watched as he dried himself with careful attention, the cotton fabric absorbing the moisture from his skin.

He wrapped the towel around his his waist under his hairy six packs and began to walk towards the kitchen.

Vanitha's heart leapt into her throat. Selvam was coming toward the house—toward her. Her legs trembled beneath her saree as she frantically looked for an escape route. The kitchen offered no hiding place, and the hallway beyond seemed impossibly far away. Panic seized her as his footsteps drew closer, the wet slap of his feet against stone growing louder with each passing second.

With desperate haste, she abandoned her post at the window and lunged for the refrigerator, yanking the door open just as the back door creaked on its hinges. Cool air washed over her flushed face as she bent forward, pretending to examine its contents with great interest.

"Good morning," Selvam's deep voice filled the kitchen, carrying the same timbre that had moments ago called out her name in ecstasy.

Vanitha inhaled sharply, her lungs burning with the effort of appearing normal. "Good morning, Uncle."

“How was the workout”

“ah.. you know how it is, usual stuff. Are you hungry?”

Vanitha couldn’t take her eyes off his hair chest with water droplets like honeydew.

Vanitha forced herself to stand upright, the refrigerator door serving as a flimsy barrier between them. Her heart hammered so loudly she was certain he could hear it, but Selvam appeared completely at ease—blissfully unaware that she had witnessed his most intimate moment.

"Just looking for some... yogurt," she managed, her voice higher than normal. The cool air from the refrigerator did little to soothe the heat radiating from her skin.

Selvam moved deeper into the kitchen, the space suddenly shrinking around his towering presence. Water still clung to his chest, catching the morning light that streamed through the window—the same window where she had stood transfixed just moments ago. The droplets traced lazy paths through the dark hair that dusted his pectorals, disappearing beneath the towel wrapped low on his hips.

"There should be plenty in the back," Selvam said, moving closer to peer over her shoulder into the refrigerator. His breath caressed her neck, warm against her skin still cool from the refrigerator's chill. The scent of him—sandalwood soap mingled with the raw musk of his exertion—enveloped her, intoxicating in its proximity.

Vanitha's fingers trembled as she reached for the yogurt container, nearly knocking over a bottle of milk in her haste. The sleeves of her silk blouse felt damp against her wrists, her palms clammy with nervous energy.

When Selvam pulled his arm out of her way he knocked the milk bottle on her had then slipped and spilled over her chest.

The cold milk cascaded down Vanitha's front, soaking through the delicate silk of her blouse in an instant. She gasped at the sudden chill, her body instinctively arching away from the sensation.

"Aiyyo, I'm so sorry!" Selvam exclaimed, reaching for a kitchen towel. "Let me help—"

His hand froze mid-air as they both registered the transformation the spilled milk had wrought. The thin silk clung to Vanitha's skin like a second layer, rendering the blouse nearly transparent. The outline of her lace bra was clearly visible beneath the wet fabric, and her hardened nipples pressed insistently against the sodden material.

Time seemed to crystallize in that moment—Vanitha, breathless and dripping; Selvam, his hand suspended between them, water droplets still clinging to his chest.

The kitchen air grew thick with tension as their eyes met. Vanitha couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The cold milk had shocked her system, but it was the heat in Selvam's gaze that paralyzed her completely. His eyes darkened as they traveled from her face to the transparent fabric clinging to her breasts, lingering there with an intensity that made her skin prickle with awareness.

"I'll get you a towel," he said, his voice dropping to a register she had never heard before—deep and rough-edged, like stones tumbling in a riverbed. It was the same voice that had called her name in ecstasy just minutes ago.

"No, I—I'm fine," Vanitha stammered, crossing her arms over her chest in a belated attempt at modesty. The movement only served to press the wet silk more firmly against her skin, outlining her ample cleavage.

Vanitha's arms trembled slightly as she hugged herself, the movement inadvertently emphasizing the curves of her breasts beneath the milk-soaked blouse. Every breath she took caused the wet fabric to shift against her sensitized skin, sending ripples of awareness through her body.

The towel around his waist had slipped lower during their collision, revealing the sharp cut of his hipbones and the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the fabric.

"Here, let me wash this for you," Selvam offered, his voice soft and unthinking. With a nod of reassurance, he gently lifted the saree pallu, its delicate fabric clinging to the damp, translucent blouse beneath. As the material gradually peeled away, revealing the intricate embroidery and the blouse's delicate sheen, he believed he was being helpful, though an uneasy feeling began to creep in.

Selvam's hand stilled as the saree pallu lifted away, revealing the full extent of the damage. The milk had completely soaked through Vanitha's blouse, transforming the opaque silk into a revealing second skin. Her breasts were clearly outlined beneath the clinging fabric, the dark circles of her areolas visible through the wet material. He could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, each breath causing a subtle shift in the damp fabric that drew his eye irresistibly downward.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured, his voice dropping to that same husky timbre that had shaped her name in the courtyard. His gaze lingered a moment too long on the curves revealed by the milk-soaked blouse before reluctantly rising to meet her eyes.

Vanitha remained frozen, hyperaware of her exposure yet unable to move. Her skin prickled with goosebumps.

The milk-soaked silk was translucent against her skin, revealing the dark areolas beneath. Selvam's gaze lingered there, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. The kitchen felt impossibly small, the air between them charged with electricity.

"I should..." Vanitha began, but the words died in her throat as Selvam took a step closer. His towel had slipped dangerously low, revealing the deep V-cut of his pelvis. Her eyes betrayed her, darting downward to where the fabric tented slightly, evidence that his arousal hadn't fully subsided from his earlier activities.

—the outline of her breasts, their fullness accentuated by the wet fabric that clung to every curve. The thin material had become almost translucent, revealing the darker circles of her areolae and the pronounced peaks of her nipples straining against the silk.

Selvam's breath caught audibly in his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. The kitchen seemed to shrink around them, the space between their bodies charged with an electric current that made the air itself feel heavy. His fingers still held the edge of her saree pallu, frozen in place as if touching a sacred object.

"I..." Vanitha's voice faltered as she watched his eyes darken. The intensity of his gaze sent a tremor through her body that had nothing to do with the cold milk dripping down her skin. She recognized that look now—the same hunger she had witnessed through the kitchen window, now directed at her with nothing to filter its raw power.

The refrigerator door swung shut with a soft thud, the sound jolting them both back to awareness. Selvam's hand hovered between them, still clutching the edge of her saree pallu. His knuckles grazed the underside of her breast through the wet fabric, sending a shock of sensation through her body.

"Vanitha," he whispered, his voice carrying the same reverence it had in the courtyard. The single word hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning.

She couldn't look away from him—couldn't pretend she hadn't heard him call her name in those intimate moments, couldn't ignore how her body responded to his proximity. The milk had turned cold against her skin, but heat bloomed wherever his gaze lingered.

A droplet of milk traced a path between her breasts, drawing Selvam's gaze like a magnet. His pupils dilated, nearly eclipsing the warm brown of his irises. The hand holding her saree pallu trembled slightly, the fabric caught between his fingers like a silent question.

"Let me help you," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the thundering of her heart. "You'll catch cold like this."

Without waiting for her response, he reached for a clean kitchen towel hanging nearby. The movement brought him closer, close enough that Vanitha could feel the heat radiating from his body. Water droplets still clung to his chest, glistening in the morning light filtering through the window—the same window where she had stood transfixed by his intimate display.

"Hold still,"

Selvam murmured, bringing the towel to her collarbone. With gentle pressure, he began to blot the milk from her skin, his movements careful yet deliberate. The rough texture of the towel against her sensitized flesh made Vanitha bite her lower lip to suppress a gasp.

His hand worked methodically, dabbing at the wet fabric clinging to her shoulders before moving lower. When the towel reached the swell of her breasts, his movements slowed, becoming almost reverential. The kitchen filled with the sound of their breathing—hers quick and shallow, his deep and measured.

"The silk will stain if we don't clean it properly," he said, his voice betraying a slight tremor. His eyes met hers briefly before dropping back to his task, the intensity in them making her knees weaken.

Vanitha stood paralyzed as Selvam continued his ministrations.

The towel in Selvam's hand slowed as it reached the most saturated part of her blouse, directly over the fullness of her breasts. Each gentle dab of the cloth sent shivers radiating through Vanitha's body. His fingers trembled almost imperceptibly as they worked, betraying the careful control he maintained.

"I should..." Vanitha whispered, her voice catching as his knuckles inadvertently brushed against the side of her breast through the wet fabric.

"Yes?" Selvam prompted, his eyes lifting to meet hers. In their depths, she saw the same hunger that had consumed him in the courtyard—raw and unfiltered now, with no bamboo screen to soften its intensity.

"I should change," she finished, but made no move to leave. Her feet remained rooted to the cool tile floor, her body swaying slightly toward his as if drawn.

"It's... it's still soaking through," Selvam murmured, his voice thick with an emotion Vanitha had never heard from him before—desire, raw and barely contained. His hand stilled for a moment, the towel pressed against the underside of her breast where milk continued to drip downward, pooling at the curve of her waist.